


celebrate

by Yana of the Arcana (sad_goomy)



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Birthday, Bittersweet, Canon Compliant, F/M, One Shot, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, a little something for ilya's birthday, sorry I couldn't help but make it a touch sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 03:45:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18086813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sad_goomy/pseuds/Yana%20of%20the%20Arcana
Summary: It's easy to forget a birthday when there's a plague destroying the city, but the doctor's apprentice decides she won't let this one slip by unnoticed.





	celebrate

 

Though they’ve been working together for a few months, there’s still so much that Yana and Julian don’t know about each other. 

There isn’t time to get to know each other when there’s a plague destroying the city. 

There are the things they pick up in the quiet moments – his penchant for coffee, the tattoo on her hand, Brundle – but there are still large gaps that may never be filled. It’s easy to forget those exist, to forget that either of them had a life before they doomed themselves to saving a city on the brink of death.  

But then Yana is in his clinic, flipping through the calendar he keeps and jotting down the sectors of the city they’re scheduled to visit, and pauses, noticing a small circle around one of the dates. It’s negligible, but if being the doctor’s apprentice has taught her anything, it’s that the devil is in the details (and hopefully the cure as well). She stands, the calendar in hand as she walks to where Julian sits at his desk, marking up a diagram of the human body. 

He’s always so focused, as though his own life depends on what he’s writing; one day, it might. She hesitates, watching him work for a moment and unable to keep from admiring how quickly and precisely his hands work, or the fire in his eyes. 

Clearing her throat, she waits for him to look up before showing him the calendar. “Is there a reason this date is marked?” 

Julian frowns, setting down his quill and taking the calendar from her hands. Then his eyes widen, and he looks at her with a stunned chuckle on his lips. 

“That would be because it’s my birthday.” 

They stare at each other for a moment, then back at the calendar. His words are heavy, a dreadful reminder that amidst the plague, there isn’t much room to celebrate life. Still, Yana offers him half of a smile, mumbling, “We should celebrate.” 

She knows that they can’t, not properly at least. A day off is laughable when it feels like the world is ending. 

“Maybe.” It’s the best answer he can offer, handing the calendar back with his own tired smile. 

They’ve both been worn down over the months, and now she can see the damage that everything has wrought on his body and soul. Despite his drive to keep working, there’s a fog in his eyes and a heavy air surrounding him. It’s clear that even if she could convince him to take the day off, he wouldn’t be able to find much to celebrate, too weighed down by the albatross he’s made for himself. 

Sensing his itch to get back to writing, she nods and walks back to her own desk, finishing up her notes on the calendar. The scratch of his quill against paper fills the air again, and it gives her a push to break the not-quite silence. “How would you normally celebrate?” 

He pauses, turning slightly in his chair to catch her staring at him. She holds his gaze, and he clears his throat, tearing his eyes away and focusing on the floor as he thinks.  

There are few things that can distract Julian, but his new apprentice’s eyes are one of them.  

“Depends on how you would define ‘normal,’” he replies, smiling when he hears her chuckle. He looks up at her, adding with a few sweeping gestures, “I’ve done a fair bit of travel, and I can safely say there isn’t a birthday protocol for doctor apprenticeships, battlefield medics, or the plague.” 

She nods, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. “Fair enough.” With a tilt of her head, she examines him, an idea forming in her head as she asks, “How would you  _like_  to celebrate? In the absence of a battlefield or epidemic.” 

He falters, the warmth that she’s radiating throwing him off for a moment. In the time that he’s known her, Julian can confidently say that Yana isn’t a very affectionate or sentimental person. However, in recent weeks he’s found more and more cracks in her façade, and they hint at something soft and delicate under a hardened exterior. 

Realizing he’s still staring with an open mouth, he quickly pulls together an answer. “Some good wine, better music…Something simple.” 

She raises a disbelieving brow. “Not something more dramatic?” 

“I have half a mind to be offended.” He laughs at her bluntness, and she gives him a sheepish smile, a self-conscious blush forming on her tan cheeks. The color only serves to remind him that she’s been growing pale, that what light she had when she first came to him asking to be his apprentice has been dulled as the days drag on with little change. 

As much as they enjoy the temporary comfort, they’re all too aware of the disaster unfolding in Vesuvia, and like the long shadow of the setting sun, it settles over them. Yana stands, beginning to button her coat as she mumbles, “I should start my rounds.” 

It’s a burden to walk the streets of the city and take count of the infected houses at the end of each day, but it’s one that she’s lifted form his shoulders. Julian watches as she gathers her things, including her mask, which she carefully secures with the leather strap around her head. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he says, and she waves before heading out, closing the door behind her with a soft click, leaving him none the wiser to the plan formulating in her mind. 

  

* * *

 

 Another week passes, and he forgets the days so quickly that he thinks nothing when Yana is in the clinic early. He makes a passing comment about getting an early start, and she hums, quick to hide her face in her notes. 

It’s another grueling day, and he loses himself in it again, barely stopping to eat, much less to notice his apprentice puttering around in the back room towards the end of the day. 

“Julian?” 

He pauses in his reading, looking up to see Yana watching him from the doorway, biting her lip. The air around her seems to vibrate with something, and he straightens. “Is everything all right?” 

“Could you come check something?” 

With little more than a sigh, he sets his book aside, standing and following her into the back room. He’s about to ask her what she’s trying to show him when he stops himself short, lips parted as she steps aside and reveals her surprise. 

A few candles provide a warm glow to the usually cold backroom, small table now covered with a brilliant velvet cloth, and with a bottle of wine and two glasses atop it. As his eyes travel over the spread, they then flicker to her as she picks up a balalaika, tucked beneath the table, and makes quick work of tuning it, calloused fingers dancing along the strings. 

He struggles to breathe for a moment, overwhelmed. “What is all this?” 

With a deep breath, she looks up at him, and it’s the closest to human that either of them has felt in weeks. 

“Happy birthday.” 

She expects him to put up a fight, to mutter about time better spent and wasted daylight. Instead, he absorbs the scene before him for a moment longer, and then lets out a small chuckle. “You didn’t have to go through the trouble.” 

“I wanted to,” she says simply, honestly, “You’ve been working nonstop – you deserve the break.” 

And he decides in that moment, with the conviction in her eyes urging him on, that he does; she deserves it, too. 

He finally steps forward, pouring them each a glass of wine as Yana sits, watching. Part of him wonders if getting him a red  was just a lucky guess, but the fact that she managed to find anything resembling wine in the city at this point is a miracle. When he’s sure both glasses are even, he hands her one and she lifts it in a toast. “To the birthday boy.” 

They smile as their glasses touch with a small  _clink_ , each taking a generous, much needed drink. It’s far from the best wine that either of them had had (and it barely counts as even a good wine), but it’s more than enough as they sit and celebrate and try to ignore the destruction around them for a few hours. 

“I think at this point I more than qualify as a man,” he drawls, taking another sip of wine as she goes back to fidgeting with the instrument in her hands. 

There’s an impish spark in the dark blue of her eyes, one that threatens to ignite him. “No gray hair to show for it, though.” He laughs and she smiles down at the strings she plucks, stopping her idle strumming a moment later to lift her glass to her lips once more. “Any requests?” 

It takes him a moment to register the question, blinking and realizing that her eyes have mesmerized him again. She raises a brow, something like a knowing smirk threatening to take over her face as a flush crawls up his neck. “You don’t happen to know any folk songs from Nevivon, do you?” 

“Of course,” she scoffs, glass back on the table and hands back on the balalaika. Seeing the question on his face before he can ask it, she grins coyly. “You didn’t think you were the only one that’s traveled, did you?” 

He shakes his head – they’re still strangers in a way. 

He wonders if there’s time for that to change. 

"I’ll be returning the favor for your birthday,” he promises, just as she begins to strum an old drinking song that stirs a nostalgia within him. 

She only smiles, shaking her head with a soft laugh – her birthday is towards the end of the year, and there’s still so much that could change. 

Neither of them knows that she won’t survive to see it. 

And she starts singing an old drinking song that stirs a nostalgia within him. He joins in moments later, and they continue singing and laughing and whispering into the evening, long after the bottle of wine is empty. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Something quick for the slippery boy's birthday, because he deserves a few bright spots in that bleak pre-canon


End file.
